


Struwwelpeter

by sharklion



Category: Yu-Gi-Oh! Zexal
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-04
Updated: 2014-12-04
Packaged: 2018-02-28 02:42:22
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,353
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2715932
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sharklion/pseuds/sharklion
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Thomas learns adults overreact, and that Ms. Schafer, a German woman with German cautionary tales, thought he deserved to be compared to Cruel Frederick—who killed the birds, and broke the chairs, and threw the kitten down the stairs, she'd recited.</p><p>---</p><p>Thomas Arclight does not like his lessons, and cautionary tales least of all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Struwwelpeter

**Author's Note:**

> For the tumblr prompt: IV, fairytales

Thomas's tutors try and feed him equations, an educational diet balanced towards science, but the only thing he absorbs is the tales they spit at him in anger, when they gain firsthand knowledge of how much better he is at sneaking frogs and newts into pockets than sitting still. He learns adults overreact, and that Ms. Schafer, a German woman with German cautionary tales, thought he deserved to be compared to Cruel Frederick—who killed the birds, and broke the chairs, and threw the kitten down the stairs, she'd recited. He also learns that Mihael cries when he tells him the one about the mad tailor that goes around cutting off the thumbs of children who suck on theirs, and and that his father, kneeling down and hugging his youngest son, would fire whoever told Thomas that story in the first place.

So, of course, he tells. Brightly, before his father can change his mind, he announces like he just remembered "Oh, yeah, it was Ms. Schafer who told me that one!"

\---

Privately, Byron admitted to himself that Thomas's education was largely hopeless, if he hoped to have another son following in his footsteps. Chris had gotten all of his scientist's mind, if little of his temperament. Thomas was the inverse, wildness and energy, without a speck of patience in child frame. There was hope he would grow into kindness and patience, since as a child, Byron was the much the same. But even if he had that hope for him, he could tell Thomas's schooling was going to be an endeavor. The tutors that had done so well with Chris were completely unable to handle him.

He sighed, and put aside the note from the tutor, who had agreed to continue to keep teaching Mihael, but only if he did not have to give Thomas any lessons. This was the third he had gone through. Not a charm, after all, he thought dryly and called Thomas in from play.

"Is this about Mr. Thompson?" his son asked, looking both sulky and eager. Apparently, he had not liked him much.

"No." Byron was firm about that. If he let this be about Mr. Thompson, Thomas would turn it into an argument about if his reaction was an overreaction, and the many ways in which there was reasonable doubt that it the mishaps (pranks) that befell him were his fault. Thomas may have hated maths, but he knew how to distract, and make an effective argument. "This is about school."

"I don't go to school," he said, grinning, like he had scored a point.

"Perhaps it is time you start." Byron had been like Thomas when he was younger, and had suffered through private school with rules strict and to the letter, continually in trouble until he had straightened out. He had not wished it to be the same for any of his sons, and thus had arranged for tutors. "You have to learn somehow, Thomas. We can't keep hiring new tutors."

He lept up, protesting, one arm to his chest and the other flung to the side, as if gesturing to a tangible injustice. "It's not my fault they're boring! They just want me to sit there and stare! I can just watch a lecture on the computer for that. Just let me watch those, isn't that good enough?"

"You would need to take tests when you're done."

"You're going to let me!?"

"And _pass them_ ," he emphasized. "You don't have a tutor, for now. It will have to do until we get a new one."

\---

His new tutor floated a hypothesis, in two parts. The first: Thomas did poorly because he was bored, which had been obvious to everyone and could have gone without stating because they had heard it so many times from Thomas himself. The second: that a more active approach to learning, that engaged with subjects he already held interest in might help. It sounded good in theory, and Byron had agreed, until it was clear she meant for maths they would be playing Duel Monsters.

But the funny part was, it worked. When having to calculate percentages, chances of top-decked cards on the fly, exactly in what order to fire off a hand to do the maximum amount of damage in a turn, how likely a luck-based card was to go in his favor, he could do it all. He didn't remember the neat mnemonics that had taught Byron, Chris, and probably would someday teach Mihael, but he could do the work and come to the right answer just the same. 

So Thomas was permitted to learn from the new tutor, more and more of his classes taken over from the downloaded video lectures. Analysis for theme and literature was not done from the usual classics, but from fairy tales, cartoons, and horror stories. 

To everyone's surprise, he'd liked the fairy tales the best. No one brought it up, not wanting to discourage him by accidentally calling up his contrary nature, but Byron had bought two anthologies to be placed Thomas's desk, with no comment.

\---

(Fairy tales are _weird_ and that's why Thomas likes them best. There's no trite lesson, in a lot of them, or the lesson was added later but not in the _real_ version. There's one in his new books— three poor apprentices meet the devil, who gives them money to say only the same three phrases, over and over again, to help him damn a soul that was already half his, and not theirs. They agree, damn the man, get off the hook scot-free, and rich to boot! In a horror story, the devil would have disemboweled them or something for wanting to have money to stick together, rather than accepting their fate of being virtuous and poor. Horror stories are just modern cautionaries— he's gotten _that_ much out of his lessons, even if his father looks perplexed at the material, and Chris's sharp gaze probably means disapproval.

So, it's fairy tales. He likes the idea that as long as it's your story, even if you don't deserve it, things will work out okay.)

\---

In fairy tales, abandoned children are left to dark forests, where they might be set upon by wolves, witches, or all things in between. The orphanage Chris left them to is in a backwater town with a wooded park, where Thomas hears dogs barking and fox yips at night and thinks it's nothing like close enough. He hates every part of it, the manicured shrubs, fenced in trees, all the other kids, his school lessons that were even _worse_ than the old ones because at least the tutors were paid to pay attention to him. 

One day there's a substitute who their teacher hadn't bothered to leave a lesson plan, and he puts on a disney film. Thomas pretends not to pay attention the entire time the film plays, absorbed in scratching graffiti into the desk. Afterward, he overhears one of the other orphans showing off telling a girl, "But yeah, the original stories were _much_ worse. This is just kid's stuff."

Opportunistic, Thomas jumps into the conversation, a sharp grin already on his face. "Even kid's stuff could beat out that." If they're just after gore, they don't need a fairy tale. They won't even know the difference. He remembers the German cautionary tales, and already on his lips is "The Dreadful Story of Harriet and the Matches", which goes _exactly_ like it sounds. 

He gets in trouble when the teacher comes, of course, but he's used to that.

\---

After the fire, the tournament, the girl— IV is struck with the mad desire to call his old tutor. Not the one who taught him to duel, but Ms. Schafer. He doesn't have her number, he's always been shit with his numerical memory, but Tron might. 

Instead he looks her up online, and leaves a voice message— untraceable, connected to the network from his D-Gazer tattoo. The message is half a minute long: laughter, and then, choked, he spills to the answering machine—, "You were right," and kills the line.

**Author's Note:**

> The German cautionary tales all come from the anthology Struwwelpeter, hence the title. 
> 
> The fairy tale Thomas mentions is also a real fairy tale, collected by the Brother's Grimm. It's title is, somewhat obviously, "The Three Apprentices".


End file.
